<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>they fall right off by wordbending</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24274696">they fall right off</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordbending/pseuds/wordbending'>wordbending</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(REALLY aged up), (everyone is dead dave), Aged-Up Character(s), Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Wakes &amp; Funerals</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:28:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,553</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24274696</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordbending/pseuds/wordbending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Nana,” said a familiar, but different, high-pitched voice. It took a moment for me to place which of Frisk’s many grandchildren it was, although nobody but them would call me “nana” - Prudence, I was pretty sure.</p><p>Prudence’s tone and clipped speech were, however, gravely serious. My soul caught in my throat for a moment, and I worried (as mothers often do) what had happened.</p><p>“Whatever is the matter, dear?”</p><p>There was a long pause at the other end, and then a sharp, almost silent gasp of breath that I realized was from Prudence crying, and then a voice shuddered out the words:</p><p>“It’s about Frisk.”</p><p>-----</p><p>Every time this old tree grows any leaves...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frisk &amp; Toriel (Undertale)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>they fall right off</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I opened my oven, a cough of smoke coming out of the door, and peered into it. I had already reduced the amount of fire magic I was using to bake, even though it felt lately like I couldn’t produce as much as I used to. Which was strange, because I wasn’t technically getting any older - despite the fact that the year was 309X.</p><p>It had been eighty years, almost exactly, since the monsters had broken free of the Underground, and I was now two-thousand, seven-hundred, and sixty-two years old.</p><p>Strange. I didn’t often tend to think about exactly how old I was. After living for as long as I have, all the years and decades and centuries had started to blend together, and I simply saw myself as “old.”</p><p>I shrugged, letting the thought pass, and reached for the pie. Just as I was taking it out of the oven, my cell phone rang. It wasn’t often it rang these days, for reasons I didn’t much care to think about, so the noise of the cheery ringtone made me jump and drop the pie, which crashed upside-down on the tile floor. I cursed silently, quickly tried to salvage what was left, and swiped on the screen to answer the call.</p><p>I didn’t even look to see who was calling. I could guess.</p><p>“Greetings, my child,” I said cheerfully. “Toriel speaking.”</p><p>I expected a joke about how they knew who I was. That wasn’t what I recieved. Nor was the voice who I expected.</p><p>“Nana,” said a familiar, but different, high-pitched voice. It took a moment for me to place which of Frisk’s many grandchildren it was, although nobody but them would call me “nana” - Prudence, I was pretty sure.</p><p>Prudence’s tone and clipped speech were, however, gravely serious. My soul caught in my throat for a moment, and I worried (as mothers often do) what had happened - if one of Prudence’s own children was in trouble at school, or if someone had fallen into poverty and needed a place to stay and something to eat, or if there was some other serious news.</p><p>“Whatever is the matter, dear?”</p><p>There was a long pause at the other end, and then a sharp, almost silent gasp of breath that I realized was from Prudence crying, and then a voice shuddered out the words:</p><p>“It’s about Frisk.”</p>
<hr/><p>There are not moments, but weeks, between a death and a funeral. But time had become like a wave crashing against a rock - eternal and yet fleeting, all at once. And, like a wave crashing upon a rock - like so many things in this world - it is inevitable, and it repeats.</p><p>So those weeks went for me. I got dressed, I baked food, I bathed myself, over and over, barely conscious of what I was doing. By the time I found myself seated in an overdecorated white room in a small, obscure monster chapel, it took me a moment to realize where I was or why.</p><p>The photos next to the urn did not hesitate to tell me everything. Photos often lack tact in that way.</p><p>My eyes took them in before I could look away. There was Frisk at eleven, grinning widely and posing with Papyrus and Undyne. There was Frisk in a smart suit at fifteen, the first monster-human ambassador, signing to a large crowd. There was Frisk, at eighteen, in a graduation hat too large for their head. There was Frisk as they preferred to be seen, at twenty-six, smiling softly with their adopted children (they had always tried to give an escape to those who had suffered as they did). There was Frisk at fifty-seven, now completely blind and not just hard of sight, making ridiculous poses with their grandchildren.</p><p>And then there was the centerpiece sepia-toned photo, of Frisk, at eleven, standing in front of their entire adopted monster family. I could see myself in the picture, smiling back at me. I could see every one of us, and I knew then, in that instant, that Asgore and I were the only ones that were left.</p><p>It was a sobering realization, even if some part of me had already known it to be true. Alphys, Undyne, Papyrus, Flowey... even Sans, who had been closer to me than a simple friend... had all fallen down. Even Frisk’s friends that were their own age, like Monster Kid, had long since passed on.</p><p>Monsters did not generally live as long as humans, after all. It was, with rare exceptions, the inevitable result of their weaker souls. Even the strongest souls, like Undyne’s, were susceptible to the ravages of heartbreak - she had fallen down not long after Alphys. That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence among monsters.</p><p>I would not fall down of heartbreak. I would not fall down of anything.</p><p>At some point, without realizing what I was doing, I had stood up and walked over to the urn. I was staring down at it, my paws crossed over my stomach. If monsters did not become dust, perhaps I would have found it strange to think of how such an empathetic, kind, passionate child was now merely ash. Instead, all I could think of was my selfish gratitude that Frisk had willed themselves to be cremated, in an approximation of the monsters they had been so close to in life, and that there was no body lying still in a coffin.</p><p>I do not think I could have bore it a second time.</p><p>“Nana,” said a voice to my left, and I looked over to see a young human woman in a black dress, two children in black suits standing next to her uncomfortably. Before I could say anything, she had wrapped her arms around me and buried her face in my chest. Her shoulders heaved as, for not the first time, she began to cry.</p><p>I reached out and wrapped my arms around her, patting her back and shhing her gently. I could hardly tell her that it was alright, but I could be there for her, as was often expected of me at funerals. It was the least I could do for one of Frisk’s grandchildren.</p><p>“Prudence, my dear,” I said to her. “I am so sorry. I know Frisk meant the world to you.”</p><p>Prudence just sobbed, so I continued to hold her while her children shifted awkwardly. I realized they had barely known Frisk, except as their blind great-grandparent who spoiled them with too much money and too many sweets. I wondered if they even understood what was happening. Perhaps they didn’t understand how they were supposed to react, the poor dears.</p><p>Eventually, she stopped crying and pulled herself out of my dress, the white fabric now soaked with tears. She wiped her eyes.</p><p>“I’m a mess, aren’t I, Nana? I’m the one who’s supposed to keep it together around here,” she said with a small, not very jovial laugh.</p><p>“Oh, hush now,” I said, with a touch of humor that I didn’t feel either. “You owe Frisk so much. We all do. And the two of you were so close - one can hardly blame you for a few tears, now can they?”</p><p>She nodded rapidly, although her eyes were still watery.</p><p>“You’re right,” she said. “You’re right. I just... I just don’t know how I’m going to handle the funeral. You know?”</p><p>Ah, right, I thought. The funeral. Where Frisk’s ashes would be spread over their favorite thing, which, since it couldn’t very well be their children, would be the original copy of the family photo, which they had treasured for the past eighty years.</p><p>I did not know how I was going to handle the funeral either.</p><p>Prudence tried to smile at me, though it was clearly forced, and said, “And what about <em>you</em>, Nana?” She reached out for one of my paws and held it, speaking quietly. “Listen. I know this is hard for you too. You’ve dealt with so much loss. Are you...” A nervous squeeze. “Are you holding up OK?”</p><p>I found myself unable to respond. To be positive and upbeat, even though I was sure it was what Frisk would have wanted instead of mourning and grief, felt like a falsehood. But to fall apart in public... I could not do that either.</p><p>She stared at me, concern written all over her face.</p><p>"I will be alright," I said with a soft, reassuring smile, unsure if my own words were a lie or not. “Do not worry about me. Go see your siblings.”</p><p>Prudence didn’t seem convinced. She wormed at her lower lip. “But...”</p><p>“I insist,” I said, a little more firmly. “Do not fret, dear Prudence.”</p><p>Prudence looked at me as if she didn’t want to go anywhere, her brow creasing. But she took her two children by the hands, told me she would see me again soon, and walked away to join her siblings.</p><p>I sighed, relieved to be left alone again, only to look towards the urn and find that I was not actually alone again. A white ghost was there next to me, in a top hat, crying more than I’d ever seen any being cry before. Their tears had made a river-like path from the entrance of the chapel to the urn.</p><p>Although I had not seen them often since they had moved their snail farm to the Surface, I recognized them right away. Napstablook. Of course - they could not die either.</p><p>I approached them slowly.</p><p>“Napstablook, my dear,” I said.</p><p>Napstablook turned to face me, so startled that they disappeared from view. Only their tears, still visible, continued to fall to the ground.</p><p>“It is alright,” I said gently. “It is I, Toriel.”</p><p>Slowly, they reappeared once more.</p><p>“toriel...” they said. “frisk is... frisk is............”</p><p>They started to cry even harder, if such a thing were possible.</p><p>“oh no............. i can’t stop........... i’m sorry..........”</p><p>“It is alright, dear,” I said. “There is no need to apologize. Cry as much as you need to.”</p><p>As if given permission, tears came out of their eyes like twin waterfalls, complete with a sound like a faucet being turned on.</p><p>“Where is Mettaton?” I asked to try and change the subject, looking around for him. “I am surprised he is not here.”</p><p>“mettaton...?” they said, sniffling despite their lack of a nose. “he didn’t want to come... he’s going to throw a big party for them later......... i’m going to be the dj..............”</p><p>“You know, a large party goes quite against Frisk’s will,” I said, annoyed despite myself.</p><p>“i know......... sorry....................”</p><p>“It is alright,” I sighed. “There is no stopping Mettaton once he sets his mind on something. I just hope he does not expect me to attend.”</p><p>Napstablook did not respond. Instead, they turned back towards the urn.</p><p>“frisk was so nice................” they said, crying again. “they were really nice to me in the ruins........ and they liked my music........ and they laid down and felt like garbage with me....... and their children were so nice too... we played a lot together...... and they’d always visit........ and... and........ oh......... i’m so sad..............”</p><p>I looked over at the urn again, at all the photographs of them.</p><p>“Yes. They were better than all of us.”</p><p>I heard heavy footsteps approaching, and Napstablook must have heard them too, because they disappeared, their falling tears the only indication they were floating off somewhere else. I turned to see who was approaching, although, unfortunately, I could guess. It could only be the last monster I wanted to see right now.</p><p>In a tailored suit, walking down the chapel aisle, was Asgore. He was holding a bouquet of flowers in his arm - golden flowers, which made me frown. Those did not belong here. Not for this child.</p><p>“Toriel,” he said quickly when he saw my expression. “I... I could not help but notice you standing here, and...”</p><p>I frowned, if anything, more deeply. I hoped he was not seriously using this opportunity to try and repair our relationship - after all these years! If he was, I would incinerate those flowers without a thought.</p><p>“Asgore,” I said testily. “What do you want?”</p><p>His face fell. He looked, now that I looked at his face, deeply, deeply sad. One could see it in his eyes. An overwhelming sense of emptiness, the lack of the spark of life. He had looked that way for a long time, I knew, but now it seemed all the worse.</p><p>“I came to offer my condolences,” he said. “For your loss. And to set down these flowers.”</p><p>He walked carefully around me and began to set the flowers down in front of the altar, among all the other flowers and gifts left for Frisk by their family.</p><p>“I do not wish for your condolences,” I said, before I could even think about what I was saying. My tone, too, surprised me - there was anger in my voice I didn’t know I felt.</p><p>Asgore seemed just as surprised, because he froze. Like a wounded puppy, he said, “Y-you don’t? I...”</p><p>Again, the words escaped my lips before I even consciously thought of them.</p><p>“Where were your condolences before? Ndidi, Eun-Yeong, Lunaria, Percy, Shiva, Yi... do those names even mean <em>anything </em>to you?”</p><p>“The six souls?” he said quickly, and I could sense the fear in his voice. Good.</p><p>“The children you <em>murdered</em>,” I said, viciously twisting the knife. “I did not even learn their names until after their deaths. Where were the condolences for them? Where were the funerals, the flowers, the grieving?”</p><p>“Tori, I...”</p><p>“Do not ‘Tori’ <em>me, </em>Asgore Dreemurr, you utter hypocrite. To even step a foot in this chapel... how <em>dare</em> you?”</p><p>Asgore said nothing, and in the silence, I felt the gaze of others on me, those of Frisk’s children and grandchildren, and the other families of their friends and loved ones.</p><p>I felt vaguely ill.</p><p>Swallowing, still feeling the stares of everyone on me, I stumbled my way out of the room and out of the chapel.</p><p>I did not return.</p>
<hr/><p>“We can’t very well surprise her with <em>that,” </em>I heard a voice say. It was Frisk’s voice, just slightly deeper since they’d turned thirteen. For some reason, a reason I couldn’t place, hearing it made a tremendous sense of relief wash over me.</p><p>“Why not?” said Frisk’s voice, in a different tone and pitch, higher and less... sarcastic, for lack of a better term.</p><p>Ah. I thought. They were talking to themselves. They did this sometimes. Even in the Underground, they had talked to themselves now and then, but it had become more common over the last two years. I wasn’t concerned - they were a strange, eccentric child. If this made them comfortable, who was I to judge?</p><p>“<em>Because,” </em>said a third voice, much higher-pitched than Frisk’s. I recognized it as that odd flower that Frisk had bought out of the Underground with them... Flowey, that’s right. “They’re right. It’s <em>stupid.</em> Who wants a coupon to Olive Garden?”</p><p>“But...” said Frisk.</p><p>I knocked on the open door leading into their bedroom, and I could see the alarm in Frisk’s eyes as I turned the corner.</p><p>“Who are you surprising, my child?” I asked.</p><p><em>Nobody! </em>they signed quickly, which was as convincing as it sounded. They smiled brightly at me, as if they’d been caught with their hands in the pie tin and were trying to play innocent.</p><p>I chuckled. “Of course, of course. Well, I am going to bake cookies. Would you like to join me?”</p><p>With another, more sincere smile, Frisk hopped off of their bed, picked up Flowey’s flowerpot (he hissed, although there was no bite in it), and went to follow me. I walked into the kitchen, keeping a close eye on them both. I still didn’t trust that flower.</p><p>“If you would not mind, Frisk, please gather some ingredients for me,” I said, once we were in the kitchen. I opened the oven and began to cast fire magic to raise the temperature. “We need two eggs, chocolate chips, and a cup of butter.”</p><p>I turned to look at Frisk again. Were they so tall a moment ago? They had only gone up to my midsection before, but now they seemed to go up to my chest. I could have sworn their clothes were different too. They weren’t wearing that striped shirt they liked so much.</p><p>And Flowey looked, for lack of a better word, sick. Their golden-yellow leaves were turning a sickly gray. That was concerning.</p><p>“Frisk, did you hear me?”</p><p>“Oh!” they said, as surprised as I was. Their voice had changed again, with none of the reediness of youth. Not to mention, they were not signing, as they usually did to me. “Yes, Mom.”</p><p>I returned to gathering ingredients out of the other cupboards, while Frisk set Flowey’s flowerpot on a counter and got the eggs out of the refrigerator. By the time I was done, I had to squint at Frisk closely. Sure enough, there were wrinkles on their skin, on their cheeks and under their eyes. Their whole body seemed to sag somewhat, as if it had lost some of its spryness.</p><p>And Flowey had... wilted. There was no expression on his face anymore, and he drooped, completely silently, in his flowerpot. One would have mistaken him for any other flower.</p><p>“Something is wrong,” I said.</p><p>“What is it, mom?” said Frisk, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.</p><p>I couldn’t answer them. I couldn’t place my fingers on what had changed. Some part of me was convinced Frisk had always looked this way, even though I was sure that didn’t make sense.</p><p>“Nothing,” I said, taking a mixing bowl out of a cupboard, then reaching under the oven to get a baking sheet. “An old woman’s imagination playing tricks on her.”</p><p>Frisk set the eggs on the counter and fetched the measuring cup while I set the baking sheet on the stove. I looked around again, unable to shake the feeling in my mind that something was off. Flowey wasn’t there. Had he ever been there? I couldn’t remember...</p><p>And Frisk... I could see Frisk’s eyes as they cracked the eggs into the mixing bowl and measured out the butter. They were, rather than their usual red, a milky white. The wrinkles on their face were deeper than ever before, and their hair had grown long and scraggly. It was also starting to turn gray.</p><p>This was wrong. This was all wrong. I was sure they had been a child only moments ago.</p><p>“Frisk?”</p><p>I blinked back tears, and by the time my eyes were open again, Frisk was holding themselves up with a cane. Their long hair, now braided, was completely gray, and their entire body was hunched over.</p><p>“Mom,” they said, without looking at me. “You have to move on.”</p><p>I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.</p><p>“It’s OK,” they said with a smile, finally looking straight at me. “It’ll all be OK.”</p><p>I blinked again and the kitchen was empty.</p><p>And then I woke up, the fur on my cheeks wet with tears.</p>
<hr/><p>The funeral, held at the entrance to the Underground, came and went. In the end, it only took a few hours, far less time than someone who had lived so long and so well deserved. A handful of ashes from Frisk’s urn were spread across the family photograph, and then the rest of Frisk’s ashes were released to the wind. Asgore said a speech, which I cannot recall the words of, as did a few others, including Prudence.</p><p>I even gave a speech of my own. I cannot remember the words of it either... only snippets.</p><p>“...Frisk lived a long, generous life...”</p><p>“...Thankfully, we are blessed by the knowledge that the world sought to grant them the peaceful death they so deserved, and they died quietly, in their sleep...”</p><p>“...Frisk would be grateful to see so many monsters here today, the children and grandchildren of the friends they had loved so much...”</p><p>“...Their life will be forever remembered, as a symbol of hope for humans and monsters alike...”</p><p>Meaningless patter.</p><p>What words could possibly express what Frisk meant to all of us?</p><p>What words could express what Frisk had meant to <em>me?</em></p>
<hr/><p>I spent the next few weeks alone. That was not unusual, for me - if anything, I was more used to being alone than I was to having others around me.</p><p>Yet the feeling of being alone, ever since Frisk’s death, was palpable. I was drowning in it. And even when someone threw me a lifeline, such as a call on the phone, I did not answer. It was as if I could not bear to have someone help me, even when I needed it most. Perhaps I have always been a stubborn old goat in that way.</p><p>So I continued living my life, if what I did could be called living. For the most part, I slept, because I could not bring myself to knit or to bake or to read. I took care of my plants, at least, but only because I did not wish for them to die as well.</p><p>After a few weeks of this, there was a knock on my front door. I should have known it was coming, for as long as I had been ignoring the phone calls of those who knew me, and yet, I did not wish to answer. I wished whoever it was would go away.</p><p>But after a moment, I climbed out of bed, put on a dress, and opened the door. At the very least, I could tell them to leave.</p><p>To my surprise, the person that greeted me was Asgore. He took up the entire frame of the door, and he was wearing the same tuxedo he had been wearing at the visitation and the funeral. He had, yet again, a bouquet of flowers in his paw.</p><p>“Howdy,” he said, before scratching the back of his neck. “I... hope this is a good time.”</p><p>“It is not,” I replied.</p><p>Asgore looked wounded, and I sighed.</p><p>“Come in,” I said. “I will make you a cup of tea.”</p><p>Without another word, I turned and made my way to the kitchen. I heard Asgore, straining to fit through the door, follow behind me and take a seat at the dining room table. I filled a teapot with fresh water and set it to boil, retrieved a glass for the flowers, and sat down to join him.</p><p>“Tori...” he said once I was seated, and I glared. “Toriel. We need to talk.”</p><p>“Hand me those flowers,” I replied.</p><p>“Hmm? Oh. Certainly.”</p><p>He gave me the flowers. He looked worried, as if I <em>was </em>going to burn them, but I simply set them in the glass.</p><p>“We do not need to talk, Asgore Dreemurr,” I said, placing the glass down. “I have nothing to discuss with you.”</p><p>“Please, hear me out,” he said, raising his paws. “I have come to apologize for my actions.”</p><p>A flash of anger, hot as a furnace, surged through me.</p><p>“How many times must I tell you this? Do you think you can pay back what you owe with an <em>apology?” </em>I snarled. Asgore flinched. “Six children are <em>dead </em>because of your actions. Because of your <em>foolishness. </em>Do you know what it was like, to send those children to their deaths, knowing they would not come back? Do you know how much I have blamed myself, as if <em>you</em> were not the cause?”</p><p>Asgore looked down at the table, frowning deeply. Every word I had said seemed to have hit him like a blow, and yet, my anger was not sated.</p><p>“Would that have been what <em>our son </em>would have wanted?”</p><p>Asgore looked up at me with wide eyes. It had been the first time I had mentioned Asriel in two thousand years.</p><p>Tears welled up in Asgore’s eyes, and he recoiled. He looked as if he was going to throw up.</p><p>At that moment, I felt my anger replaced by a deep, deep shame.</p><p>Frisk would not want me speaking this way to Asgore. Frisk had spent so long trying to help Asgore, trying to forgive Asgore, trying to make Asgore as much a part of their family as anyone else. They had known that I would never forgive him, but they had tried their hardest to at least help me to accept him, sins and all.</p><p>“I am sorry,” I said quietly. “That was too far.”</p><p>He wiped at his eyes with his paw.</p><p>“No. No, you are correct. My actions can never be forgiven. Our son... Asriel... he would never have desired so much misery and death.”</p><p>He took a deep breath.</p><p>“But that is not why I am here, Toriel.”</p><p>I blinked, surprised.</p><p>“I am here to apologize for the visitation.”</p><p>The memories came rushing back to me. The words I had said to Asgore then had been just as cruel as the words I had said to him just now. Again, shame welled up within me - I knew Asgore must have been grieving Frisk’s death as well. It was not right of me to say such things. Frisk would not have wanted it.</p><p>“You have nothing to apologize for,” I said, frowning. “It is I who should apologize to you. I said things that I should not have said.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” he said mildly. “But you were right. I am a hypocrite. And, more importantly, Toriel... you were grieving<em>.”</em></p><p>I stared at him, puzzled. What did that have to do with anything?</p><p>“Everyone has been worried about you - not just myself, but Frisk’s children and grandchildren, and the other families. You have kept yourself locked up in this house ever since...” He paused, his words taking on an even gentler tone. “Ever since Frisk’s death. You have not allowed yourself time to mourn their loss. You have not sought out the support of those who care about you.”</p><p>I felt, yet again, ashamed. He was right, and yet... and yet...</p><p>“I cannot, Asgore,” I said. “I cannot mourn.”</p><p>He reached out a paw across the table and gently laid it over one of mine.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because... because...”</p><p>Images flooded my mind like a dam had broken.</p><p>Frisk, their expression carefully blank, their steps slow and tentative, taking my paw and letting me lead them through the puzzles.</p><p>Frisk calling me “Mom.”</p><p>Hugging Frisk and saying goodbye to them, for what I had thought would be the final time.</p><p>Frisk saying they wanted to stay with me.</p><p>Frisk smiling at me for the first time.</p><p>Frisk’s first day going back to school, a backpack too large for their shoulders slung around their arms.</p><p>Frisk’s graduation, where the only one who cheered and cried harder than me was Undyne.</p><p>Frisk adopting their first child.</p><p>Their first child calling me grandmother.</p><p>Frisk moving out to live on their own, a day I pretended to be fine with but cried about the moment they’d gone. Frisk never losing what made them Frisk, even as they lost their sight. Holding Frisk’s first grandchild in my arms and cooing as they reached for the tuft of fur on my chin.</p><p>Frisk. Frisk. Frisk.</p><p>My shoulders heaved as I started to cry, hot, messy, stinging tears that flowed and flowed.</p><p>“Because...” I choked out, “I cannot accept it! I cannot accept that they are gone!”</p><p>I raised a paw to my snout as if it would stop me from crying.</p><p>“I cannot go through this again... I cannot live like this, having everyone I love and care for die, having my <em>children </em>die, over and over, for all eternity!”</p><p>I tried to continue, but I could not speak. Instead, a loud, horrible wail escaped my throat, and the tears stung more violently than ever.</p><p>I cried and cried and cried. I have no idea how long I cried for, but Asgore continued to hold my paw throughout it.</p><p>The water boiled away.</p><p>Eventually, my sobbing subsided, but only because I had no tears left to cry. I wiped at my eyes, and Asgore offered me a handkerchief from his vest pocket to blow my nose.</p><p>“Toriel,” Asgore said, his voice as careful as if I was as fragile as glass.</p><p>I said nothing. I just waited for him to continue.</p><p>“I... understand how you feel. Truly, I do.”</p><p>I almost had to laugh. How could he ever understand how I felt?</p><p>“You may consider it hypocritical, if you wish, but... every one of those children’s deaths left a scar in me that will never heal. I am forced to live every day with the consequences of my actions... the shame and the guilt. And I will live with it every day for the rest of time, as the only people who still care for me wither and die.”</p><p>He squeezed my paw.</p><p>“Frisk was one of those people. They saw the good in me that nobody else still did. And now, they are gone. One day, we will be the only ones who even remember them. We two are trapped forever in this accursed prison we call immortality.”</p><p>“You are terrible at cheering people up,” I said, trying to smile.</p><p>He laughed softly. “I am. Perhaps this will be better: even so, this is not the end. Frisk would not want me to give up, and they would not want you to either. Find a reason to keep living, and live... <em>that</em> is what they would have wished.”</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>“I can hardly believe I am saying this, but... you are right.”</p><p>He smiled at me. I smiled back, as best I could.</p><p>“Thank you, Asgore,” I said, moving my paw away from him. “You are wiser than I give you credit for.”</p><p>“Only because Frisk taught me well,” he replied mildly. “Now, about that tea...?”</p>
<hr/><p>The next time someone called, I answered. It was Prudence - automatically, I dreaded what she had to say, but I swiped on the screen nonetheless.</p><p>“Yes, my dear?” I said.</p><p>“Oh, Nana!” Prudence said. “You finally answered... I’ve been so worried about you! Everyone has... Helvetica and Phynea keep calling to ask about you, and you know, Mercy and Temperance just won’t stop asking for their Grandnana.”</p><p>“I am so sorry, dear... I did not mean to upset you.”</p><p>“It’s alright, Nana. I understand. Gran... I mean, Frisk’s... death... it must have really hit you hard. You practically raised them.”</p><p>“It is true, it did hit me quite hard... but how could I stay sad, when they raised so many beautiful children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren of their own?”</p><p>A laugh. “Oh, stop. But, ah, um, that’s actually what I wanted to call you about.” She coughed awkwardly. “I hope this isn’t a bother or anything, but do you think maybe you could, er, babysit? My wife has her hands full with work lately, and I’m hitting the deadline for my novel. If you could take Mercy and Temp off my hands for a little bit, I’d be really, really, really grateful!”</p><p>I laughed. “Of course it is not a bother. I would be happy to watch over your children.”</p><p>“Oh, whew. I’m so glad. I’ll be right over.”</p><p>“Very well. It was good to hear from you, my dear.”</p><p>“You too.” A pause. “Oh, and Nana?”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“It’s... it's going to be alright.”</p><p>I smiled.</p><p>“Yes. It will be.”</p>
<hr/><p>The next morning, I opened an old newspaper. I had really only intended it to do the crossword, and perhaps the junior jumble, but I ended up opening to the obituaries instead.</p><p>A picture of Frisk stared back at me. My eyes crossed over it and the little description of them.</p><p>“ <strong>FRISK, 300X-309X.</strong></p><p>“A memorial service was held at New New Home Chapel for Frisk, aged 91 years old, who died at their home in New New Home, Osaka Prefecture. Frisk was born on September 15th, 300X to unknown parents, and was never legally adopted.</p><p>“Reflecting their close bond with monsters, Frisk lived the majority of their life as an ambassador between the human and monster species, brokering peace between the two races. Their most famous act, the SPARE (Species Peace And Reconciliation is Excellent) Act, which criminalized discrimination and hate crimes against monsters, passed the United Nations by an overwhelming margin.</p><p>“However, outside of their work in monster-human activism, Frisk lived a life of selflessness and charity that was almost unprecedented. They gave to charity with their full heart, living a humble life away from fame and fortune, and (though never married) adopted many children, all in order to better the lives of the less fortunate.</p><p>“They are survived by their children, Hope (age 73), Juniper (age 68), Zerias (age 77), Kiko (age 67), and Elpis (age 75), as well as their many children and grandchildren, and are remembered fondly by the families of their closest friends, monster and human alike.”</p><p>I smiled softly, and flipped the page to find myself at the “HELP WANTED” section. I paused on it. Perhaps it was fate that I did, because a thought crossed my mind.</p><p>Perhaps, I thought, a teaching job would do me well.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's natural for a tree to lose its leaves.</p><p>Thank you to my friends William and Willow for giving me feedback on this!</p><p>(Frisk art by Gigi D.G.)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>